


fresh

by BlindSwandive



Series: Masquerade fills [11]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Try This At Home, Hedonism, Imagined violence and murder, Ironic since of course they are eating dead things, M/M, Misha Collins is a Hedonist, Referenced violence, Smart Jared Padalecki, This is going to go very wrong eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive/pseuds/BlindSwandive
Summary: That mid-shift ring in Jared's pocket can only mean one thing: his friend-with-unusual-benefits in the morgue has something to share.
Relationships: Misha Collins/Jared Padalecki
Series: Masquerade fills [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1280822
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13
Collections: SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020





	fresh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emmatheslayer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmatheslayer/gifts).



> For the spn-Masquerade prompt: "Jared and Misha are a pair of cannibals and it gets a bit gruesome and out of hand."

Jared's phone played a string of haunting notes from what Misha had assured him, when he chose the ringtone, was a calliope, _not_ "some hideous circus clown thing." Okay, so it was carousels and not clowns; it still stood the hairs up on the back of his neck, made him feel dizzy and like he was on the Tilt-a-Whirl.

To be fair, that was probably less about the carnival thing and more because it alerted him to a text from Misha. In the middle of the night, when they were both mid-shift at the hospital, and still hours from freedom. That tended to mean one thing, and it made him scared and hard and hot and dizzy. And hungry.

His mouth was watering on spec. Pavlov's dog.

When no one was looking, he reached in his pocket for his phone to glance at the notification.

_"m: fresh one"_

Jared leaned on his cart of supplies to steady himself. And hide his erection. _Deep breaths,_ he coached himself silently. 

He glanced at the nurse's station and quietly wheeled into the next room he had to resupply. If he kept on like usual to the end of the hall he could hit the elevator and no one would notice. No one who would care, anyway.

Sweat beaded along his hairline and under his arms, but he tried to act normal. ("Normal"--God, if they had any clue...) He flirted with the patients and staff who expected it, joked with the ones that expected that, and kept his head down with the ones who would curl a lip at an orderly who didn't know his place. He was sure his nerves were written all over him, but the white uniform was like stealth wear--no one saw you unless they needed something. No one cared if you were having a hard day or a nervous breakdown or psychotic break so long as the supplies reappeared and the waste disappeared.

By the time he reached the elevator, his pulse was pounding. 120 bpm, ballpark, if he had to guess. He wheeled his cart in and didn't make eye contact with anyone, prepared small talk in advance in case anyone joined him for the trip down, but the doors closed and he was blissfully alone.

He glanced at his watch and counted the beats of his heart, did the math to calm his nerves. 116; he'd been damn close. He grinned at his shoes. 

"Deep breaths," he mumbled in the empty elevator. If Misha caught his heart racing like that he might get another lecture about the benefits of meditation.

"I don't need to meditate," he'd responded the last time. "I'm only like this with you." Then he'd tried to swallow Misha tongue-first. Misha had stopped lecturing.

When the elevator doors opened, Jared held his breath and listened for footsteps in the hall. He could get away with being down in the basement, but it was easier to not come up with an excuse if he didn't have to. A few long beats of stillness gave him the go ahead he was waiting for and he cut the quickest path to Misha's domain: the morgue.

Jared rapped the door three times with the backs of his knuckles and it opened quickly. He barely got his cart inside before Misha had him pushed up against the wall, pulling him down hard by the neck to meet him mouth to mouth and groin to groin. He kissed like a starving man.

"Did I keep you waiting?" Jared asked, breathless and laughing, when he let up. 

"Jackass," Misha scolded, but without venom. His bright eyes were lit up with fervor. "No, it's just... perfect," he said, closed those bright eyes like he ached inside. "Pieces already missing, parts still on the road, no one will notice. We--God, Jared, we can have as much as we want this time." His fingers were curling so hard into Jared's uniform that the knuckles were digging little bruises into his pecs. 

Jared leaned his forehead down to Misha's and they both let out a shaky exhale.

"How long do we have?" Misha asked.

"Don't know," Jared admitted. "Think I can squeeze a half hour with no one missing me, but after that..."

Misha chewed a chapped lip between his teeth. "Just a taste now, then. Come back after your shift and we'll... we'll have some more," he breathed, and crowded up into Jared's mouth again. Jared drank him in, tongue to tongue and clacking teeth.

When they broke, he could feel they were both trembling, damp-palmed and eager, and he bumped his chest against Misha to drive him back into the room. "Show me," he demanded, then again, softer, pleading, "show me."

Misha grabbed him by the hand and led him to where he'd tucked the table, out of the view of the door.

 _Train wreck,_ was Jared's first thought.

"Road accident," Misha said, breathless, as though correcting him.

"I'll say," Jared said, awed.

There was a moment when the gruesomeness threatened to overwhelm the need and the want; the damage was substantial, the body more a collection of pieces puzzled together than something whole, and in that moment it was terrible, a tragedy, and his stomach gave a nervous quiver. But when Misha's hand touched his back, firm, warm, it flipped like a magnet, and he saw it the way Misha had seen it--the promise of no one looking, of freedom and decadence and _anything we want._ And just like that, the damage became beautiful, painted in electric red and fleshy pink and bright white bone, and his knees threatened to give. He wanted--wanted with every ounce of his body--wanted to reach in with his fingers, bury himself face-first and tear with his teeth.

Misha had cleaned away gravel and debris but left the rough edges, and now he was carefully cutting into the body with a scalpel, rinsing a sliver of meat under a tap to remove any grit, and offering it up to Jared's lips like the girl with the grapes in a painting about gods and ancient Greeks. It was so absurd, so bizarrely civilized and careful that Jared laughed out loud, and it sounded a little wild to his ears. He clamped a hand over his mouth while Misha gave him a strange look, half-offended, and slipped the piece of thigh muscle into his own mouth instead, sucking it wetly.

Jared's laugh dried up, and he kissed his contrition onto Misha's jaw while he chewed. "Want to--want to just--" he began helplessly.

Misha swallowed and nudged him aside to cut another piece. His pale lips were a flushed from his tongue, but not bloody like they'd be if he--if he just--

"Don't!" Jared whispered when Misha went to rinse the next piece. "Can I--let me just--just have it like that?" he said, and felt his cheeks get hot. 

"It might have asphalt in it," Misha warned, but he was soft and smoky and there was no judgment.

"That's okay," Jared said, emboldened, and bent to snatch it with his teeth from Misha's fingers. He pulled it in with his tongue and felt a bead of blood on his lip, felt the itching tickle of it as it began to slide down, watched Misha's eyes focus in laser-sharp on it then go muddy and unfocused.

 _Pupils dilating,_ Jared noted silently. _Indications: pain; drug use; arousal._ (He was studying an ex's abandoned nursing texts in his free time, and honestly wasn't sure if it was because he was considering going to school for it or if it was just tangled up with this thing going on between him and Misha.) He bet Misha's pulse was elevated, too.

There was a hint of dust from the road, but mostly there was blood; there was flesh, blue-rare but still warm, a piece of another human in his mouth, lush and springy. 

"Better?" Misha asked, voice dry and hungry.

Jared nodded, swallowed, and then Misha was on him again, tonguing the blood from his chin and lip, kissing the taste from his mouth.

"Better," Jared confirmed when they broke, and Misha nodded agreement.

"I want--" Jared began, but stopped, tried again. "Would they--would they notice teeth marks?" Normally they'd been confined to the fine strips Misha could slice along the edges of autopsy incisions, ones that would disappear when he stitched them back together. But this... He felt like his vision was blurring from the fever in his skin. Maybe it was the sweat in his eyes. Everything was in soft focus, hazy and drug-warm.

Misha groaned soft, closing his eyes. Direct hit. He gripped the table and folded over his middle like it hurt. Through the scrubs, it looked like his erection just might.

It took him a minute to compose himself, but he swallowed and nodded. "I could cut them out after."

And that was all he needed to hear. 

Jared gripped the table with both hands and crouched, his eyes roving over the destroyed meat for a likely spot: somewhere he could get an edge to tear from but where it wasn't too shredded by the road, where the skin was pulled away or wasn't too thick. He found it on the middle of a forearm, a gash opening up next to a strangely intact wrist, all pale blue veins and smooth skin. His mouth watered so badly he had to suck a breath quickly to keep saliva from dripping into the wound.

Why he worried about it when he was just going to plunge his tongue and teeth in, he couldn't have said.

The meat didn't want to come, didn't want to tear away raw and uncut, and he wound up with both hands braced on the arm like a dog with its paws on a bone. He pulled against it, harder, blood vessels breaking and spilling salt and iron into his mouth, and finally Misha put a hand in front of his face to warn him before nicking into the flesh with his scalpel. He cut just enough that Jared could tear it free with his teeth, and Jared rocked when it gave, almost overbalanced onto the floor. In the end he sat anyway to breathe and to chew, blood dripping down his chin, mouth full of sweetness and game and the toxic metal unique to human. Misha stared at him like he was a god, a meal, a trainwreck, and when Jared finally swallowed, crouched to lick the blood from his chin before it could reach his neck or his uniform.

Jared panted and kissed him lazily, drugged on the thing.

"I think if I--I can make some cuts so it's mostly loose," Misha said, excited, helping Jared back up to his feet. "Then we should be able to eat it off the bone, so to speak." His voice was lower than usual, the rasp of it now down in his chest, dark and full of need.

Jared nodded, suddenly needing to see Misha tear flesh. He wanted desperately to eat more of the body, too, to tear and bite and suck and swallow, but the taste was still in his mouth and now more than anything he wanted to see Misha's lip bright with blood, to see his face contort with ecstasy. Misha was a true hedonist, and no one ate like a hedonist.

Misha chewed his raw lip again, then picked a shoulder wound. He trimmed away the most obviously destroyed edge to drop aside in a collecting dish, then sliced the thick skin loose and cut slits like perforations into the muscle beneath. He met Jared's eyes and Jared was sure they were both holding their breath.

Misha ate like it was manna, like it was making love. His tongue pressed against the meat, his teeth bright against the pink of the flesh as he sank them in, and the blood pushed out into his mouth, painting the pale lip dark. His eyes fluttered shut in tantric bliss, and Jared stared in wonder at the way he enjoyed, at the richness of his feeling, the goosebumps on Misha's skin and the curl of his fingers and the tremble of his lip as his mouth worked. 

For the first time, his thoughts turned almost... romantic, and he imagined not just eating flesh and fucking in store-rooms, but wondered if this could be going somewhere. He wondered what it would be like to come home to this guy, to maybe treat him with a bottle of wine and some carpaccio while they had sex by a fire.

For not the first time, he wondered what the fuck was wrong with him. But then Misha opened his eyes, hazy and wandering, breathed in shakily, and Jared bent to kiss him again, sweet and long and deep.

Misha thankfully stopped him from saying anything stupid, or professing his love in an orgiastic daze, by bending eagerly back into the body, fingers tracing reverently over the ribs and marking a long line of nicks into the flesh. It would be bite after bite after bite there, and the longer the line ran, the hungrier Jared felt, the hotter the humming in his veins. He let his hands wander onto Misha's hips, gripped, bent his knees to press up against him from behind, to grind haphazardly against his body.

"Patience, young padawan," Misha said, but Jared heard his breath hitch, and he scraped his teeth over the back of Misha's neck, soft. Misha groaned.

"Watch it, I've seen what those teeth can do..." he murmured, and Jared laughed faintly and nosed in his hair. When Misha kept dipping his scalpel, Jared's eyes rolled like a horse's, half-wild, and he swiped his tongue up over Misha's spine, tasting his sweat and his skin.

"Okay, okay," Misha breathed, and laughed a little nervously, nudging Jared back. "Okay, here," he said, and shifted to the right, waving Jared around to the left, so they could bracket the half moon he'd carved over the ribs.

Jared's mouth fell open. He pictured it again, falling face-first and gorging like a vampire, tearing like a wolf, imagined eating some beautiful thing live from a sacrificial altar, had to shake his head to snap himself out of it. What was it Misha liked to say? _Be present. Be in the here and now. Live in this moment you've been given._

Some sappy, romantic urge made him grab Misha's hand, bring it up to his mouth to kiss the knuckles. "Thank you," he said fervidly, "thank you." 

Misha squeezed his hand tight, and they sank in together, temple to temple, cheek to cheek, mouths filling with the same flesh, a little cooler now but still alive in some vital way. The sound, so close, was obscene, all wet and gasping, and the smell of blood and flesh and one another's skin was strong, huddled so close. Jared's grip got unconsciously tighter on Misha's hand, the other grasping for purchase on the body, pressing it down so he could pull against it, the muscles in his jaw working hard.

Time and place seemed to melt away with the flesh in his mouth, and for a fleeting moment Jared thought he might be feeling what Misha seemed to feel all the time, wholly in this moment, present and vivid and red, floating and subsumed beneath the sensation. As his fingers began to slip and his hair dangle into the cavity, picking up fragments of bone and traces of blood, his eyes stopped processing anything but color, anything but the pink, pink, luscious pink beneath him, the glimpses of white when he managed to scraped muscle free of bone. Everything was taste and smell and touch, the slickness under his tongue and the firmness under his teeth, the blood dripping down his chin when he crushed it out of the meat.

They ate, still clutching each other's hands, until everything Misha had scored loose was gone. When he couldn't find anything else to pull free, Jared found himself nosing in flesh and skin and fighting muscle with his teeth like a dog, pulling and desperate and panting.

Dimly, he registered a shaky hand pressing his sweat-damp hair from his forehead, a voice saying his name, soft, over and over.

Jared blinked his eyes slow, and realized over his name he could hear his own ragged breaths, harsh and uneven. His vision cleared, and he could tell, even amidst the carnage of the body, the damage they had done.

His face felt wet and sticky from the nose down to his chin, and out almost as far as his ears. Strands of hair were glued to his cheeks with drying blood. He glanced down to the hand not in Misha's; it was smeared with red to the wrist, and purple blood was caked deep under his nails.

Reluctantly, he glanced down at his once crisp white uniform; the V of the neck and down into the chest were saturated with gore. Misha somehow still looked relatively clean, mouth a mess of blood but scrubs no more spattered with viscera than usual.

"Back with us?" Misha asked, and it seemed to echo in Jared's ears. _Shock? Tunnel vision and audio distortions are right, but no drop in blood pressure. Fugue state?_

Jared tried to say yes, tried to reassure Misha he was fine, but his mouth didn't cooperate. He nodded dimly.

Misha smiled, and it seemed softer and fonder than usual, if also a little strange. He carefully disengaged Jared's hand and wet some paper towels in the sink.

Jared sank to the floor, waited for his pounding heart to settle.

He could see himself reflected in the shiny metal of the table, a shock of white and red. _Like the bone and the flesh,_ he thought. He looked like a monster, gorged, an ancient devouring god. 

"You look like a four-year old who got into the fingerpaints," Misha said, biting down a grin, and Jared barked a startled laugh.

It took a minute getting his tongue on board, but Jared swallowed and asked, "Not like Kali or Shezmu? Or something out of a Romero movie?"

"You do possess a certain godlike beauty," Misha conceded, and Jared honestly couldn't tell if he was teasing or praising. It was like that with Misha, all twinkling mischief. He reached a hand unthinking to Misha's cheek, left a print of blood on his jaw.

Misha kissed his palm, then patiently took his hand, wiping the worst of the mess away.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked. "I have an extra set of scrubs around but I doubt the shirt will go over your gigantic shoulders."

"Have one in the car," Jared mumbled, while Misha wiped his face like a mother. "Though don't know how I'm getting there."

"You could go shirtless," Misha suggested, deadpan, one eyebrow quirked up. "I doubt there would be many complaints."

"I love you," Jared said, grinning, and tried not to regret it. Misha blinked and smiled, enigmatic, said nothing. Jared pulled him in to kiss some of the blood from his mouth, though he left more behind than he took.

Misha pinched Jared's nose with the damp towel fondly, and kept cleaning him. 

Jared looked at his face, at his bright twinkling eyes and the blood on his cheek and mouth, and imagined all at once, raw and terrible, how this could end. He had visions of the rug by the fire, the wine and raw meat, but visions of biting, too, of hunting. He and Misha might grow weary of scraps, of the unbleeding dead, would find a way to catch someone, to eat them still struggling. And it wouldn't be enough. He saw them by the fire, making love, but also saw himself sinking his teeth into Misha's soft belly and meaty thigh while Misha moaned, and then howled when he broke the skin. 

He had visions of blood, the cannibal god victorious, drenched in purple to the elbows, with fresh, living blood pouring down from his mouth, down the cording muscles in his neck and his bare chest while he consumed something alive--something he craved, something he loved--took it into his belly and made it a part of him for ever.

The thought made him sick and thrilled him at once.

"You should come over for dinner sometime," he murmured, awed.

"I'd like that," Misha agreed. "I make a mean carpaccio," he added, and winked.

 _I'd just bet you would,_ Jared thought silently. _I bet you would._

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first piece of SPN RPF. What a way to join a genre. 
> 
> In case anyone needs this reemphasized, do not try this at home; human meat is all full of nasty toxins.


End file.
